


and when i'm a little unsteady (stay a while with me)

by earlgrey_milktea



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Caretaking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Healing, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, there are cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 04:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17594804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/pseuds/earlgrey_milktea
Summary: The light flicks on, flooding the kitchen with brightness instantly. Neil startles almost violently, banging his knee against the counter and nearly falling off the bar stool.“Shit,” he gasps, staring at Andrew, “you scared me.”Andrew blinks at him. “The fuck are you sitting in the dark for?”sometimes, neil feels like a rowboat lost at sea. so andrew turns himself into an anchor and lets him drift.he stays.





	and when i'm a little unsteady (stay a while with me)

**Author's Note:**

> i promised there would be cats therefore There Shall Be Cats  
> my working title was "the one with the cats" except i've had minimal interactions with actual cats so ummm yikes i keep mentioning cats i think i'm just setting y'all up for disappointment
> 
> set after they've moved in together and have adopted the cats,
> 
> in other news, matt boyd is still best boy(d)

 

 

The light flicks on, flooding the kitchen with brightness instantly. Neil startles almost violently, banging his knee against the counter and nearly falling off the bar stool.

“Shit,” he gasps, staring at Andrew, “you scared me.”

Andrew blinks at him. “The fuck are you sitting in the dark for?”

“I—” Neil tries to explain—that he woke up because his internal clock has recognized that early morning runs are a permanent thing now, that the restlessness residing in his bones is growing loud again, that he fumbled into his workout clothes and made it into the kitchen and just. Stopped. But his voice gets stuck in his throat and he can’t figure out how to get it back. He closes his mouth.

Andrew studies him for a moment longer, and then abruptly turns away. He crosses the kitchen and fills the kettle with water. He’s making tea; Neil recognizes this, even if his focus is so shot that he can’t follow Andrew’s movements with his eyes. He goes back to staring blankly at the granite countertop of the kitchen island.

Neil can remember going to bed the night before. They stayed up a bit finishing the last few episodes of a show that Nicky recommended that wasn’t terribly obnoxious for once. Andrew was in a good mood so they made out a bit. Neil likes nights like that, slow and languid and easy. 

Until it dissolves into a night of cold sweat and unspeakable terror and taunting laughter.

_ He’s dead _ , he reminds himself.  _ He can’t hurt you anymore. _

It doesn’t help. It never does.

A mug of tea slides into view. He’s vaguely aware of his hands sluggishly coming up to wrap around it. There’s a spot of milk in it the way he likes it. He drinks, ignoring the way the scalding liquid burns his tongue. He doesn’t taste anything, but the heat bleeds down his chest and through his stomach. He thinks maybe he feels a little more solid, a little less weightless, but still too numb.

“Neil,” Andrew says, and Neil blinks to find Andrew standing next to him. He doesn’t remember when Andrew moved, and he thinks he should probably be alarmed at that fact, but he’s too hollow to muster up the effort. Andrew lifts his hands towards his face. “Yes or no?”

For a heartbeat, Neil is frozen. And in the next, he’s blurting out, “No.”

Andrew withdraws his hands to his sides. His eyes remain on Neil’s face. Neil doesn’t look back up. There’s still half a mug of tea in his hands. He places it on the counter before his shaking hands can slosh tea all over himself. 

It’s not the first time Neil’s said no. It was a cause for cold wars between them for a while, Neil’s constant  _ yes _ becoming grating instead of reassuring, to the point where Andrew was retreating because he needed to know that Neil can say no. And Neil can, of course he can, he’s spent his entire fucking life saying no to the shitty circumstances he found himself in. The occasions he needs to are still far and few in between, but enough for the two of them to reach an understanding.

Neil loses time again, blinking back into awareness on the couch where Andrew is hovering in front of him, holding out his mug. He’s refilled it at some point. Neil takes it. He presses his palms against the warm ceramic and stares at the rising steam. It curls a little before dissipating. 

“Here,” Andrew says. 

Neil looks up in time for Andrew to deposit a cat in his lap. It’s King, her fluffy white fur immediately soothing some of the itchiness underneath Neil’s skin. Andrew doesn’t wait for a proper reaction, turning and disappearing down the hall. Neil sits. He absently pets King and sips at the tea until it starts to go cold.

At some point, he must have dozed off. He blinks awake to find the blinds have been pulled open and late afternoon sunlight is filtering in. Sir has joined them on the couch. There’s a blanket draped over his shoulders and the cats are pressed against him in his lap and at his hip. His head still feels heavy, the blankness sitting in his chest lingering. But, he muses somewhat distantly, Neil can feel his fingers and toes again. 

His empty mug has been replaced with a glass of water. His phone sits next to it on the coffee table. Dislodging his hand from under the blanket, much to the dismay of the cats, Neil picks up the phone and unlocks it. There’s a single text from Andrew.

_ Call Matt.  _

He doesn’t wonder where Andrew has disappeared to. He doesn’t think about how much time he’s wasted since jerking awake this morning. He swallows some water and calls Matt.

His friend picks up on the third ring. “Neil! What’s up? It’s rare for you to be the one calling first.”

At the sound of Matt’s familiar cheer, Neil can already feel tension seeping out of his body. Matt’s always been a constant in his life—different than the quiet firmness that Andrew provides, but safe in the steady warmth that never fades, not even when Neil’s carefully crafted masks were torn away from him, leaving him bare with all his bloodied teeth and ugly scars. Neil leans back against the couch, free hand patting Sir by his side as he allows Matt’s voice to wash over him.

“You should come visit,” Matt’s saying, “since it’s off-season and all. I’d go to you but Dan’s due soon, y’know.”

“Shouldn’t I not visit because she’s due soon?”

“Nah, man. You’re going to be my excuse to get out of fetching her weird cravings. She wanted pizza with fish on it last week. Fish, dude. I can tolerate pineapple, but  _ fish _ ?”

Neil laughs despite himself. It’s more of a short huff than anything, not that unusual, but Matt hears the difference anyway.

“You sure you’re okay, Neil? You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I know.” Neil scratches King behind her ears when she headbutts him for attention. Sir swipes at her lazily. He watches them nudge at each other on his legs. “I just. Had a nightmare.”

“That sucks, man. You talk to Andrew about it?”

“No.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“That’s cool.”

They fall silent for a bit. Neil concentrates on counting Matt’s breathing over the phone. The off-kilter feeling that’s been haunting him since he woke up has faded a little, enough that he’s stopped eyeing the doorway and physically resisting the urge to take off.

“Hey,” Matt says eventually. “You going to be okay, kiddo?”

Neil closes his eyes. He breathes in. Lets it go. “Yeah,” he says. “I will be.”

Exhaustion sinks in after the call ends. The cats have wandered off, in search for better things to do than entertain his lethargy. Neil drinks half the water and curls up under the blanket again. Idly, he traces the dust motes drifting through the sunlight. They’re strange, he thinks, giving the impression of freely floating away while really going nowhere at all.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep again, but when he blinks his eyes open, Andrew is there. He’s sitting in the window seat, the window cracked open and a book in his hands. He has a lollipop in between his lips; he’d quit smoking some time between the demands of pro exy and adopting two cats. Sir is curled up on the cushion next to him now, purring softly at the way Andrew is lazily stroking his fir. It’s a peaceful image. Comfortable. Safe.

“Staring,” Andrew says without looking up.

Neil’s mouth quirks up in response. He stretches a little. A small disgruntled noise at his feet tells him that he just disturbed King’s nap. He watches her slink towards Andrew. He’s always been the cats’ favourite even though Neil was the one that brought them home in the first place. Neil doesn’t think he minds at all.

“What are you reading?” Neil asks. His voice is a bit raspy with sleep, but it doesn’t sound like it’s coming from underwater. He takes that as a good sign.

“A biography about a dead guy,” Andrew says.

“Is it an interesting dead guy?”

Andrew shrugs. He bookmarks the page and puts the book aside. He bites down on the lollipop and drops the stick on the sill behind him for safekeeping. When he turns his eyes on Neil, it’s the same piercing gaze as always, quiet yet weighty, heavy enough to catch Neil and hold him down. Never restricting, just enough for Neil to stay.

“Come here,” he says. 

Neil goes. In the messy sunset colours streaming in through the window, Andrew is painted like a thought to ponder, like a content sigh. Almost soft. He reaches up with his hands, pausing in front of Neil’s face.

“Yes,” Neil whispers.

The fingers that touch him can’t be described as gentle. They’re not exactly perfect, not quite lovely. What they are is this: warm, solid,  _ real _ . They trace the scars on Neil’s face not with reverence but with a care that doesn’t shy away. They follow the line of his jaw, his nose, his lips. Neil closes his eyes and  _ feels _ —Andrew’s hands are tender like a bruise.

The rabbit quivering in the dark of his ribcage finally quiets.

When Neil opens his eyes, Andrew is already staring at him. Always ready to meet him halfway.

Neil breathes in. Breathes out. 

He doesn’t waver.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> honestly i'm just so mad at these two because their future? this future?? of co-habitation and cats and maybe not getting married and not saying the words "i love you" specifically and understanding each other just fine and living onwards and just simply this steady quiet together, like fuck you that's my ideal i'm so mad i want this so bad
> 
> @ me with your cat pics @puddingcatbae on tumblr/twitter


End file.
